


How to Sew Hearts Back Together: A Soulmates Tale

by yellow_craion



Series: Soulmates Yarn [8]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alec Lightwood Has Panic Attacks, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bad Parent Maryse Lightwood, Biphobia, Blood and Violence, Bruises, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fantastic Racism, Flashbacks, Gen, Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Insecure Alec Lightwood, Internalized Homophobia, Multi, Murder, Muzzles, Nudity, Objectification, POV Alec Lightwood, POV Alternating, POV Magnus Bane, Panic Attacks, Prison, Protective Luke Garroway, Protective Magnus Bane, Ragnor Fell Lives, Red String of Fate, Slut Shaming, Soulmates, Starvation, Supportive Magnus Bane, Vampires, Warlock Marks (Shadowhunter Chronicles), Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2020-09-26 15:22:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20391877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellow_craion/pseuds/yellow_craion
Summary: “Two werewolves and a warlock were killed last night. I just got to the scene and…”Whatever else Luke says, Magnus tunes it out. He’s staring off into space.“Who… who, Luke? Who’s the warlock?” He swallows past the growing lump in his throat, bracing for the name. Doesn’t matter whose name it is, he knows all the warlocks in New York. He covers his mouth with one hand, the other gripping the phone.





	1. Alec

**Author's Note:**

> (tags and warnings will be added with later chapters)
> 
> great big thank you to lewispanda for help and support and that glorious amazing tittle!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Coming out is brave,” he says with conviction, yet his face remains soft and his gaze warm. “Always. What you did was brave. Trust me on this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: homophobia, biphobia, racism/fantastic racism, internalized homophobia, mention of sex as a coping mechanism, slut-shaming, panic attack, anxiety, internalized ableism, abusive parenting and results of it

In a matter of days, the Head Office has actually become Alec’s own space in his mind. He no longer feels like a guest, just borrowing it. It is fully his. He spends most of his time here now, the other two most often used places being his bedroom and the training grounds.

The transition surprises him at times but it’s a good change, he thinks.

Yet as much as this is his space, he also can’t shake the dread whenever he reaches for the materials from the magic bookstore. Like he’s smuggling contraband.

That’s why he’s bowed over a book that’s perched on his lap, peeking from just under the desk surface. He’s tapping a pencil between his fingers while reading. The pile of paperwork on top of his desk is still waiting for him, temporarily forgotten.

It’s different. In a way it’s easier to get through, simply because the text doesn’t read as pompous as Shadowhunter sources. On the other hand, it’s… off. He doesn’t like the blatant criticism of one of the Shadowhunter past heroes, one that Alec himself used to dream of becoming like. Now, it’s as if he’s betraying his childhood fantasies by allowing them to be dirty in retrospect.

It can’t all be true, he reasons, trying to calm down.

Still, he reads on, morbidly fascinated by the details of the massacre, about which he’s heard nothing but vague whispers.

The silence - and his focus - is abruptly interrupted when the door knob turns and he has to scramble to put the book out of sight.

Alec wants to yell that people should knock before coming in but stops himself from uttering a sound when he sees it’s his mother, followed by his sister. He stands at attention and just offers a neutral: “Didn’t hear you knock, mother.”

“What do you mean?” Maryse lets out a tired sigh, and waits for Isabelle to close the door behind them both. “You’re my son, this is your office, why would I need to knock? Am I not welcome?” 

There’s no time for Alec to even open his mouth, before she continues, in an all too familiar reproachful tone. “Am I just some random Shadowhunter?” She takes a seat at the small sofa by the book cabinet, giving her son a sour look. “I suppose I may as well be, considering the things I had to learn about you from other people.”

He’s stuck between saying hello and trying to placate her. A glance to his sister, who’s just now taking a seat next to their mother is enough to convince him he’s left alone in this.

He takes a fortifying breath and moves to lean forward against the desk.

“I’m sorry,” he gulps. And he is, at least for the way she had to learn about him. That was not the way he should have gone about it. He’s berated himself every night since that evening, for behaving like a coward, coming out publicly like that, but the idea of coming out to his parents face to face is still terrifying and they already know the truth. “How is father taking it?”

“Not good,” she shakes her head with a sigh. “Not that I can blame him. Did you expect anyone to take it well?”

Alec flinches under the cold judgement of his mother, but tries to cover it by gripping the wooden edge with more force than necessary. His heart is hammering inside his chest and he struggles to keep his face blank.

“All the more reason you need to get somebody’s support! Herondales are against you, fine, we can’t undo this now. But you need to align yourself with some other family. A strong family!”

Alec knows where this is going. Favors and the usual political dance. “I take it you have somebody in mind already?”

“Blackthorns,” Maryse suggests. ”Their loyalty to the Clave is unwavering and I hear young Stephanie is looking for a husband.”

“Husband?!” He sputters, the idea making his head spin. There’s so many reasons why marrying that girl is out of the question for him, he can’t even begin to voice them.

He glances to his sister, begging her with his eyes to help.

“Hold on, mom. I get it, you’re…” Izzy throws a quick glance between Alec and Maryse before deciding on a word. “...disappointed. But let's think about the optics! He says he’s gay then marries a woman? I think that could be seen as indecisive at best, cowardly at worst. Nobody wants either as the leader.”

Maryse takes a moment to consider. “You have a point, but what else can we do?”

“Let’s find him a husband instead,” Izzy offers, only to leave their mother sputtering this time. Alec is gaping at that proposition, just as shocked, if for a different reason. It really isn’t that much better.

“But I don’t know of any other gay Shadowhunters, so…”

“There  _ are  _ no gay Shadowhunters!” Maryse throws her arms up in exasperation, interrupting her daughter. “We,” she levels a steely glare at her son, “are not gay. We are part Angels, Raziel help us. You will do well to work on that, Alec!”

“Work on… what?”

“Getting rid of these… urges,” she answers with a scowl. “The Lightwoods are a respectable family. It’s bad enough Isabelle likes to sleep around, now you,” she stops abruptly then shakes her head again. “I can’t even say that!”

They both look down, chagrined. Alec swallows past the lump in his throat, desperate not to humiliate himself by crying now. He’s failed his family when he came out, and he’s going to do it again, because he knows his attraction to men is not going away. Deep down, he thinks the Angel paired him with a man for a reason, but that notion is something he’s better off keeping to himself.

He’s already tried to get rid of it before coming to New York and it never worked, never lasted. It’s part of him and he’s grown to somewhat accept that, even if he truly was the only gay Shadowhunter to exist. He may as well be. He’s never had the opportunity or courage to risk exposure, not even in the shadows, back in Idris.

Now that he’s been given a soulmate, it doesn’t feel right to be looking for experiences elsewhere.

“That’s it.”

He looks up just in time to see Maryse stand up abruptly.

“You will marry a woman and produce an heir to continue the family name. Am I being clear, Alec?” The crisp gesture and clipped tone make this moment feel more like a conclusion of a business meeting than a family reunion.

With a final comment, she heads to the door, distaste dripping from her words: “You can pretend she’s a man, if you must. But this is the last time I’m hearing about you liking men.”

She leaves without a glance to his sister, or a goodbye to either of them. Just a click of the lock in the silent room, as she closes the door behind herself.

Alec has no idea what to do with himself; right now or in the nearest future.

He glances at Izzy. While it’s painfully obvious what his parents’ position is, he’s a bit unclear on where his sister stands on the issue - because yes, it’s become  _ an issue _ . All his life, he’s been the one trying to be the mitigator, trying to defend her from their parents’… well, mostly Maryse’s, disapproval. It’s strange to have their roles reversed. Especially now that he’s taken over the Institute and this was supposed to be his time to shine.

Isabelle stretches out against the back of the sofa with a sigh.

“Need a distraction after this,” she says, shaking her head with a wry smile. “You wanna join me, Alec? I could finally show you the city. Just the two of us?”

“You mean, show me the bars?”

“Among other things,” her eyebrows wiggle suggestively.

Alec huffs out a mirthless laugh. “Just like that?”

“What?” Izzy frowns. “I’ve had my whole life to get used to her calling me a slut. Directly or indirectly. I know, it’s all new to you, but… I don’t know. Guess you get used to it?” She shrugs, then gets up to join him at the desk. “That’s the point of a distraction, brother.”

As much as he appreciates the offer, he doesn’t know how to stop thinking about Maryse’s decision.

“Think she’ll do it?” He asks quietly, frowning down at the floor. “Get me married, when I don’t want it?”

“Alec,” she puts a hand on his forearm. “We both know she values the family name more than what anyone wants. No point arguing. I’m just surprised she hasn’t found a husband for me yet.”

“Guess that’s a perk of being the first born.”

“True,” they share a knowing look.

“Look on the bright side, brother. Whoever mother picks, you only need to get her pregnant once. And in the meantime, I can teach you how to sneak around. Or even,” she puts a finger up, accentuating her point. “Get you in touch with some hot guys to get your mind off things.”

The idea isn’t offering much comfort to Alec and it must be showing, but his sister is unwavering.

“Like, right now!” Izzy turns to the side, finds a clear piece of paper and a pen. “Here,” she scribbles a number with a name, then hands the note to Alec.

“He’s a werewolf. A real dog in bed,” she winks. “And he’s bi. Bet he won’t say no to you. Just…”

She unbuttons Alec’s shirt before he can object. “There. Much better! Go out, have fun. Tomorrow we can deal with mother and her plans.”

  
  


\--

He’s made no conscious decision to come here.

Solid wood practically materializes right in front of Alec, making him halt mid-step in surprise. He curses his own carelessness - anything could have easily jumped him and killed him, when he’s been so lost in his thoughts.

He was unable to go on with his reading after he’d been left alone. And there was no way he’d follow Izzy’s suggestion to have sex with a random werewolf.

So he went to work out to the training grounds, hoping it would help him clear his mind. He didn’t get a chance to throw even one punch at the heavy bag, when he heard a group of older Shadowhunters. They probably weren’t even aware of his presence, as they spewed their vitriol in the dark corridor.

Alec was stuck in place, barely breathing.

He wanted to yell at them to shut up.

He wanted to disappear, unnoticed. He wanted some damn peace.

After that, he ran out of the Institute without any thought of a destination; still wearing the tight tank top and sweats.

He’s been walking around, trying to put the chaos in his head into small manageable compartments, before it could overwhelm him.

And so he stands here now, looking at the polished black door, and wondering if he should knock or go away. He always sends a message before visiting anyone. But what about now, when he himself had no idea he’d come?

Alec bites his lip, thinking of the last time he’s been here. Would Magnus even want to see him? So soon? Alec still hasn’t apologized and in his current mindset he doubts he can come up with anything worthwhile.

The door swings open and there is Magnus, leaning against its edge with a raised eyebrow. “If you like the craftsmanship so much I can maybe find you the number of the guy that custom made these for me,” he says, patting the wood.

The Shadowhunter takes a step back. “You knew I was here?”

“Warlock. Wards,” he points to himself, then around. “Why do people keep forgetting that?” Magnus asks with an eye roll, and Alec flinches at the apparent criticism.

“Sorry,” Alec says too quickly and bows his head down, only just missing the frown on the warlock’s face. “And I’m sorry for not sending a fire message ahead, or calling,” he goes on, completely forgetting he doesn’t even have the number. “I just, uh,” Alec hesitates, because he has no right to say the truth.

That he doesn’t have anywhere to go where he wouldn’t be judged now. 

So he followed the string on instinct.

“It’s ok, Alexander,” Magnus responds in a gentle tone. “Would you like to come in?”

Alec looks up, trying to swallow the lump in his throat, but when it’s still firmly there, he nods, and miraculously, Magnus lets him in.

“Thank you,” he chokes out and makes his way to the sofa, only to halt mid-step when he sees a pot of tea and two cups waiting at the low table - so much like the last time he’s been here. He turns around to look at the warlock closely, unable to decide if it’s just a coincidence, a kind gesture or a trap.

“Alexander?” Magnus stands still by the entrance, watching him as well. “What is it?” He asks, with eyebrows drawn tight. He pushes the door and it closes with a soft click.

“You, uh, made tea?”

“I did,” the warlock nods with a smile and comes up closer in a few quick strides. “You seemed to enjoy it last time. Was I wrong?”

Alec’s eyes go wide at the casual mention of his previous visit. “You aren't mad at me anymore?” He can see the realisation dawning on Magnus. Before the warlock can say anything though, the Shadowhunter recoils and steps back.

“What?”

He has no idea why Magnus is acting so confused. They both were there the last time. He knows. Right? He should know, it would be rude to spell it out now. Alec can’t exactly tell him the list of reasons he should be angry with him, that’s not… It would either be telling Magnus how to feel or inviting an even bigger spotlight onto Alec’s shortcomings. And he’s not certain which is worse.

He needs to make things right with the warlock, not worse!

“Alexander?”

He stops. Then frowns; he’s been walking around without realizing. The sudden stillness is jarring, and he loses the train of thought momentarily, backpedaling hard to remember…

“What’s wrong, Alexander?”

He’s startled to see Magnus so close. Were they standing this close? He glances around, only to conclude that even if so, they apparently moved to the other side of the sofa.

Alec winces. He shouldn’t be spacing out like that.

“Sorry,” he breathes out. “Sorry, sorry, sorry…”

Magnus’ fingers ghost over his forearms, and the Shadowhunter is captivated by the slow movement.

Did he notice those rings before? He thinks not, not specifically.

Does a High Warlock need to punch people? Warlocks usually just rely on magic...

Magnus has beautiful hands, Alec decides, staring at how the metal on his fingers catches the light. It reminds him of armor.

“It’s alright. Why are you sorry?” Magnus asks in a calm voice and his soft expression throws the Shadowhunter off. It’s not what he’s used to.

“I… sorry, uh…” Alec breath catches and he stammers.

He doesn’t know anymore. He’s out of words. There’s no way to string the mess in his head into a coherent… anything.

He just shakes his head, unsure even himself of what exactly he is trying to say with that.

Magnus puts his hands on Alec’s forearms once again, except now with more pressure.

Alec frowns, or at least he thinks he is. He doesn’t have much confidence in his control over facial muscles at this point. But the warlock gives him a smile and it feels reassuring, so Alec hangs on to that like a lifeline.

“You look like you’re about to collapse. Sofa is right there, just behind you,” Magnus explains in a low tone.

He lets himself be maneuvered backwards, ever so slowly. He doesn’t register the implication though, so doesn’t even attempt to brace himself before his legs bump into something solid.

Ah.

Alec is too preoccupied with staring at Magnus’ face, but his body takes the cue and he drops onto the soft cushion without taking his eyes off the warlock. That tender, almost dream-like expression is making Alec feel all kinds of new things he couldn’t hope to identify yet.

“There,” Magnus nods, then takes a seat in the armchair next to him.

“I came out,” the Shadowhunter says suddenly, still feeling like he owes Magnus… he’s not sure what exactly, but an explanation at least. Something to show the warlock he can take initiative and not just blindly follow orders; that it wasn’t a waste of time to give Alec a second chance. He’s half tempted to mention his new reading material as well, but that would only sound like he’s making an effort for approval alone, when that’s not the case.

Magnus is looking up at the news with a tentative smile that makes Alec’s heart feel pleasantly full. “I’m proud of you, Alexander.”

He looks down, unable to control the grin at the praise. It warms him up and makes his head spin a little.

Except.

“It’s a brave thing to do, for anyone, and… well. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I can’t imagine Shadowhunter society being welcoming of any difference. How is your family taking that in?”

He’s not going to lie to his soulmate. No matter how much he loves this feeling spreading inside him, he needs to burst the bubble. Better now than have Magnus find out later.

“You say that now, and,” he gulps. “Thank you. Really. But I didn’t have the courage to face my family. They had to find out through gossip after I came out at the end of a briefing.”

Alec is staring down at the table, too fearful to watch Magnus’ reaction, his gasp being more than enough. He clenches his jaw, waiting.

“Alexander?”

When the silence stretches and it becomes too much the Shadowhunter slowly looks up. The frown is not what he expected.

“Did you… Does it mean you think coming out publicly, in front of... a platoon of random Shadowhunters, is… cowardly?” Magnus spits the last word like it disgusts him, not bothering to hide the scowl.

It takes Alec by surprise. He has to actually run the question again in his mind, to make sure he heard it right. It’s surreal, being around the warlock - he seems to be pleased and take offence at the most unusual things and Alec feels like he needs extra time to adjust, to know how not to screw up.

He must be taking too long to answer because Magnus leans in closer over the armrest, making Alec brace for what’s coming.

“Coming out is brave,” he says with conviction, yet his face remains soft and his gaze warm. “Always. What you did was brave. Trust me on this.”

The Shadowhunter shakes his head, struggling to find his voice but needing to protest nonetheless.

That’s not… He’s not… It doesn’t add up! Like the werewolf reports!

He blinks rapidly, trying to clear his head, because where the hell did that come from? He should…

His face is hot.

No. Not here! He’s not going to embarrass himself in front of Magnus again! He needs to get out.

Not out, out. Bathroom. Yes, that should be…

“I’m sorry, do… uh….”

And he’s already screwing it all up, but he has to get away. Hide. “Bathroom,” he chokes out and staggers up on shaky legs, not looking up. “Sorry. Where is the bathroom?”

It’s clean, and he can rest his hot face on the cool tiles. Yes, he just needs to get up and go, and… Oh! Magnus is waiting for him to show him where the bathroom is.

“Sorry,” he wobbles towards him but his legs are prickling as if a hundred needles were in there.

He’s getting dizzy, so he tries to balance against something, and shit! Magnus is noticing, he must be! Shit shit, sorry, “I’m sorry, sorry,” he keeps repeating, and he’s aiming to lean a hand on a wall or chair but he over-balances and falls down.

And shit, he can’t get up.

There’s a shadow looming over him and fuck, he’s screwing it all up so, so bad! He’s making enemies left, right, and center, his soulmate hates him, his family is ashamed of him…

He’s hugging himself against the looming shadow.

“Sorry, sorry, please don’t send me away! I’ll try harder, I’ll be better! Sorry, I’m sorry...”

They will send him back to Idris, or worse yet! Derune him and kick him out, and he’s gonna die, and he had fucking plans for his fucking life, and how can he bring in change if they hate him? How can he prove he can be a good leader, when they mock him, and he’s so fucking hot he’s burning up, and wouldn’t that be just be so funny if Magnus’ rug caught fire because of him?

He laughs but it morphs into a sob halfway through and he practically slaps himself when he puts his hands over his mouth to keep quiet because he’s done quite enough to humiliate himself, and…

Is Magnus still here?!

He can’t hear anything, and he’s too scared to look up at the looming shadow of his future. His head is pounding and his eyes sting and he is burning up and shaking. He scrambles to get up but still cannot.

Oh, Angel! He’s never going to live this down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next up - Magnus pov chapter!
> 
> (looking for a beta)


	2. Magnus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why didn’t you come to me?” Magnus asks gently, taking extra care so it doesn't sound like an accusation.
> 
> The wolf opens his mouth but then stops himself and just looks away with shame. “I should have.”
> 
> “No, Luke, I didn’t, I didn’t mean it like that,” he extends his hand out flat on the table, and gives him a sad smile when the other man squeezes his palm. “You mustn't blame yourself. I just want to help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: flashbacks, mild gore - corpses with missing body parts
> 
> great big thank you to brokenfannibal for betaing *throws confetti*

Chairman wakes Magnus as soon as he jumps onto the bed. The warlock turns lazily to greet the cat, barely cracking one eye open.

“Bit early for you, isn’t it?” He asks, with no idea what time it actually is, only going by how tired he feels. His hand slides off the cat, and he’s just about to drift off to sleep again - Chairman will wake him again if he really needs him - when he remembers last night.

He listens in, past the purring, but there’s no sign that his unplanned guest is already up.

With a tired sigh, Magnus rolls out of the bed, pulling the cat onto his lap and kisses the soft fur on the top of Chairman’s head.

“Better get ready then, huh?”

He shuffles to the en suite to gets ready, putting off the inevitable moment he will have to leave his bedroom. It’s tricky, trying to convince himself he’s not anxious to face the Shadowhunter this morning, that the slow pace is only him being sleepy.

Eventually he reaches his wardrobe. With a hanger in each hand, he stops his considerations and puts them all away. He never does this, not before breakfast, so why should he now?

No, he decides to make a point - to himself, or to Alexander, he’s not certain, but he is going to stick to his morning routine and not let the Shadowhunter disrupt it. He’s going to have breakfast as usual, wearing nothing but pajama bottoms and a silk robe, no matter who is going to join him.

He uses magic to put on eyeliner and a bit of color into his hair tps, as the only concession. 

Magnus may not feel it, but he definitely looks more ready to face the day now.

Once he steps out, Chairman follows, mewing and bumping into his shins, making sure it’s the kitchen he goes to.

On the way, he glances towards the guest bedroom, wondering about his guest.

Last night was intense. He’d never expect a Shadowhunter to have a panic attack, in his apartment no less, but considering the strict, repressive, militarist society they have, it shouldn’t really come as a surprise. Magnus has always been just too busy helping the many traumatised Downworlders, trying to soothe their emotional scars after an encounter, to worry about possible trauma Shadowhunters themselves may go through.

“Yes, I know, I know,” he scratches the cat behind the ear and along the chin when his head bumps into the warlock’s leg again. Once in the kitchen, he conjures up the bowl of food next to the already waiting bowl of water.

“Think we will have company for breakfast?” Magnus asks the cat, and opens the fridge to check what’s available. He’s not too worried; anything that’s missing he can just procure with magic.

Just as he’s about to start on the tea, his heart skips a beat and starts hammering in his chest.

He saw something.

Something familiar - but dangerous. He’s not sure what, it was just there, in the corner of his eye. It was there just a second ago.

He flinches when he sees it again. Black swirls on pale skin; runes. Shadowhunters.

A bang. There’s a splash of water and he may have dropped the kettle, but none of it matters.

How did a Shadowhunter get past his wards?!

Edge of a cabinet is digging into his back. He’s cornered. Fuck! Fuck!

He lifts his arms up, blue flame ball in each palm. Let the bastards come!

He’ll be damned if he lets them gouge his eyes out without killing at least a few of them in the process. Make them work for it, dammit!

“Magnus?”

What?

Alexander. He’s standing in the doorway, hands up, as if to prove he’s no threat.

Magnus lets his own hands drop and the flames disappear. “Sorry, I…” He turns away promptly, shuts his eyes tight and wishes his hands would stop shaking. “I thought you were somebody else,” he says with a blank face.

There’s silence for a long time and he eventually chances to look behind.

The runes are still there, on full display because of that black tank top but now he knows they’re there. He knows who’s there.

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to... “ the Shadowhunter looks down between them and in a couple steps picks the kettle up from the floor and puts it on the counter top. “Should I go?”

Magnus is staring at the puddle of water at his feet, then shakes his head dazedly. He watches Chairman peek from under the table and he feels bad for scaring him, but the cat doesn’t seem to hold it against him and approaches curiously.

The warlock smiles when the cat shakes his paws out after stepping in water. The feeling of calm affection washes over him and it soothes his frayed nerves.

With a wave of a hand he dries the floor and looks back up, focusing on his guest, who’s smiling down at Chairman.

“I conjure up a mean Belgian waffle,” Magnus brags, in an effort to put some distance between them and his unfortunate reaction. “What do you say?”

Alexander hesitates but then, something in his expression softens and he agrees to stay.

\--

  
  
  


The phone call from Luke at this hour is a surprise, and the warlock excuses himself away from the breakfast table to answer it.

“Sorry for waking you up,” the man on the other side of the line says in a way of a greeting. “I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t urgent.”

“What is it?”

“Two werewolves and a warlock were killed last night. I just got to the scene and…”

Whatever else Luke says, Magnus tunes it out. He’s staring off into space.

“Who… who, Luke? Who’s the warlock?” He swallows past the growing lump in his throat, bracing for the name. Doesn’t matter whose name it is, he knows all the warlocks in New York. He covers his mouth with one hand, the other gripping the phone.

He’s the High Warlock. All the warlocks in the city are under his protection and he failed so spectacularly.

“Oh, God,” he chokes out.

“Magnus? You alright?”

He flashes Alexander a reassuring smile that’s all kinds of fake, but seeing him visibly concerned gives Magnus an idea.

“Luke? How would you feel,” he asks, all business. The shock and hurt are still there, but he needs to be the leader now. He can grieve later, when he’s alone and the killer is punished. “If we got the Head of the Institute involved?”

Magnus is ready for Luke’s protests. He’d have them too. Still has, to a lesser degree.

In the end, he manages to convince the werewolf to give Alec a chance.

“Alexander,” he says while magically changing his pants into something more formal and putting on a thick velvet jacket. “Something happened and I think your involvement as the Head could be beneficial…”

He looks sheepish. “Do I have time to run to the Institute and change? All I have is my training clothes I came in yesterday.”

“No need,” Magnus waves his hand dismissively, but still waits before doing any actual magic on the Shadowhunter. “I can fix that for you, if you’d let me?”

At his confused shrug, the warlock conjures a black suit, a sky blue shirt and some accessories to go with it and piles them on the back of one of the chairs. He then waves the remnants of their breakfast away. “Get dressed, we should hurry.”

Not ten minutes later, they portal into an alley, away from prying eyes.

The scowl that greets them is well hidden, and vanishes completely by the time Alexander can properly notice.

Magnus and Luke share a look, while the Shadowhunter joins them through the portal, just behind the warlock.

“Hello, let me introduce,” Magnus steps between the two of them, a fake smile covering his resignation in his role as a referee. “Head of the Institute, Alexander Lightwood. Alpha of New York pack, Luke Garroway.”

He’s pleased to see that Alexander offers his hand for a shake. To Magnus’ trained eye, the werewolf is much less eager to shake hands with a Shadowhunter, but he still does it, gritted teeth and forced niceties notwithstanding.

“Let’s get to the point, ok? This way,” Luke turns and leads them further down the same alley, behind the trash cans and a few back doors to whatever shops are around.

The police tape signals what's coming, just over there, behind the big dumpsters. Magnus scowls at that; whoever killed them didn't think much of their remains, to leave them with the trash. Then he looks further and his breath catches. It's a full body flinch that surprises him, and his eyes are shut before he can even realize what he’s doing.

The bodies are incomplete.

There are two holes in one victim's head, with dried blood trailing down to the eyes and temples, and gunk seeping out of them. Horns. That's where horns used to be.

Upon closer inspection, the hair of the dead warlock is not so much patchy from lack of care, as covered in dried blood, sticking in every direction, some flattened closer to the forehead. The sheer amount of it tells Magnus one thing and that’s one thing too much.

The victim was alive when the horns were taken. No dead body bleeds this much, oh no.

He knows all too well what the corpse mutilations mean. 

Someone took this warlock's mark as a trophy; something that Magnus hoped to never see again.

The sight reminds him of his dearest friend - he has to call Ragnor and warn him! No matter that he's an ocean away; one can never be too careful. And it would give Magnus some peace to hear his voice, to be sure he is safe in that cottage of his.

The other two bodies look like werewolves in the process of transformation. Their hands are missing their claws. There’s surprisingly little blood around them.

“The wolves weren’t killed here,” Luke says, obviously keeping an eye on Magnus. “We think the warlock walked in on whoever was dumping the bodies.”

Magnus clears his throat and his eyes well up despite his efforts to stay collected. He turns his head and bows down low, making sure his face is obscured as he pretends to examine… something. Anything. A crack in the concrete is good enough.

There’s no time to be fragile, and this is no place to show weakness.

He swallows past the lump in his throat, cursing internally and promising himself that he will take the time in the evening to let the grief and anger out, in the privacy of his own apartment.

A promise he has made and broken before and knows he will do so again. There’s never time to wallow; there’s always someone who needs him.

But the promise - the lie, still manages to make it easier to breathe.

For now.

\--

  
  
  


“I’ll give it to you, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.” Luke chuckles, once the two of them are in Magnus’ apartment, having left Alec to go on his own back to the Institute.

The warlock frowns. He can’t fathom what part of seeing the bodies wasn’t bad and he’s just about to say so, when the wolf explains:

“Obviously. I meant the Lightwood guy.”

“Ah,” he lets out a sigh, then motions to the empty table. They sit on opposite sides and he props his forehead by one arm. “Sorry. I’m still…” He shakes his head, tired and unable to come up with adequate words.

“I know,” Luke nods before assuming similar position and burying his head in his palms. “I know what you’re thinking. And on top of that I’ve had wolves disappearing for a month now. Can’t help but think it’s gotta be related.”

Magnus dreads the idea.

“Why didn’t you come to me?” He asks gently, taking extra care so it doesn't sound like an accusation.

The wolf opens his mouth but then stops himself and just looks away with shame. “I should have.”

“No, Luke, I didn’t, I didn’t mean it like that,” he extends his hand out flat on the table, and gives him a sad smile when the other man squeezes his palm. “You mustn't blame yourself. I just want to help.”   
  


God, does he ever!

The pain in his heart is choking him and he pushes against it every second, otherwise he’d collapse crying in front of Luke right this moment.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells his guest and makes his way to his apothecary - partly to compose himself, partly because he has an idea. What’s done is done, but there could be a way of warding the pack against further attacks. And maybe he could do a spell to find the missing wolves, on the slim chance they are safe and just moved to a different city.

After closing the door behind himself, he takes a deep slow breath that comes out way to shaky and way too loud.

Where did he put...? A while back, he’s made those protective bracelet charms, and then he didn’t actually need them anymore, so he stashed them somewhere.

Picturing the bracelets isn’t doing a thing for him, so he focuses on retracing his steps, using that as a grounding tool at the same time.

“I see the desk,” he mutters under his breath, looking around slowly. He put them together at this desk. What’s next? “I see the curtains, I see the cabinets and books,” he continues, ticking the items on his fingers to keep track. “I see boxes.”

He’s sure he still has them, he just needs to find them.

“I feel the soft carpet under my shoes, I feel the rings on my fingers.”

He’s going through his supplies meticulously. Have to be on one of the shelves.

“I feel the soft velvet on my wrists. I feel…”

Ah, there!

“I feel the polished wood in my hand,” he says with a grin after finding a bunch of them. Already, his breathing is calmer, but he stays put.

“I hear the traffic outside. I hear… my voice, and… the wood clicking in my hand.”

Slow breath in. Steady.

“I smell juniper incense and,” he lifts his hand and sniffs his wrist. “...my cologne.”

Slow breath out. And in, again.

He can’t taste anything really at the moment, so he closes his eyes and tries to remember the breakfast.

The breakfast he had with Alexander.

“Waffle,” he breathes out.

He walks out quickly, ready to face the world once more. Luke looks up from his phone when he hears him.

“Sorry it took so long, had to find these,” he lays the bracelets with wooden beads on the table next to his guest.

“Each will create a protective barrier around the wearer. Should be enough against a random mugger or a couple Shadowhunters.” They both know there’s no way Shadowhunters are  _ not  _ responsible. “May be tricky if they piss off a warlock though,” Magnus adds with a shrug, just to lighten the atmosphere a fraction.

“Don’t recommend taking them off once you put them on, but,” he tilts his head to the side with a little pout. “...that’s all up to the wearer. I made them all the same, but if someone doesn’t like the style they’re free to come and get a different piece… but that will be for a price. You make that clear to them.”

Luke laughs at his stern expression. “Will pass that on. But what about the price for these?”

“On the house,” he shrugs. Then stops any protests with a finger in the air and even more serious look: “I mean it.”

“Thank you.”

“We should warn them,” he says, thinking of all the Downworlders in New York alone. Perhaps he should send messages to other High Warlocks? Would that be an overreaction?

He definitely will call Ragnor later.

\--

  
  
  


He's a little concerned when Ragnor doesn't pick up the phone. Just like last time. Like hundreds of times, that all turned out just fine, so Magnus tells himself he really shouldn’t worry.

After dropping the phone onto his massive desk among the papers and books, and all the contact details he has for different warlocks under his protection, he sends a fire message. There’s a twinge of guilt that he starts from his personal connection with a friend on a different continent, but nobody has to know. For his peace of mind.

Once the fire message is out, he goes through all the other names. Alternating messages with actual calls, he makes sure to keep each one brief and to the point - for his benefit as much as for everybody else’s. Can’t let himself dwell on things. Now is not the time.

Afterwards, Magnus moves to the sofa in the living room. Hours went by already but it was necessary. He conjures a meal for himself and checks up on Chairman - the cat’s dozing on the balcony in a patch of afternoon sun.

Finding enjoyment in the food is difficult now. He tells himself it would be a waste of perfectly good beef though, and forces himself to slowly clean most of the plate.

He waves the plate away once he’s done, and leans back with a sigh.

Staring at the screen of his phone he mulls over the, hopefully last, call he has to make today.

It’s early hour for a vampire and so, Magnus hesitates. He decides to wait an hour or so; and spends that time going over his old notes on warding spells.

He can’t help but think about Raphael’s face when he got attacked by Herondale. It was terrifying enough, and now… His mind spirals into all the horrible things that could have happened, that still could very well happen to his boy.

Phone back in his hand, he has the urge to call him just to make sure the vampire is still there. He’s not missing. He’s not abandoned in a dirty alley. But calling would mean telling him about the latest developments. Even though Raphael deserves the information, the warlock can't shake the need to shield him from the gruesome truth and to allow him a little more peace.

Except.

He's a leader just as Luke and Magnus. He needs to know to be prepared, to make the call for his people. It wouldn’t be right to keep it from him.

And if he’s anything like Magnus, and they both know he is, he would not have peace if there was even a single vampire of his clan in danger.

Magnus dials the number with a heavy heart; he wants to hope, but what he’s expecting is a confirmation of his worst suspicions.

"Raphael?"

A bleary “hello” greets him, among some shuffling sounds.

“Sorry for calling so early,” he says and huffs a soft laugh when he realizes this is exactly the same as how Luke started his call this morning. “But I need you to wake up.”

He waits for the vampire to tell him when he’s ready; once he does, Magnus gets right to the point.

"Something...happened and i need to ask if there are any missing vampires in your clan."

"One, actually," Raphael says, carefully. "Can't reach Ben anywhere. Do you know what happened to him? Is he alright?!"

Magnus feels his heart drop, and closes his eyes. "He may have been kidnapped. I hope we're wrong, but after what I saw..."

He can’t force out the words. He’s been saying it over and over but now they’re stuck in his throat.

"Magnus?" the vampire's voice turns soft, less desperate but instead more scared. Magnus hates it.

"What did you see?" After a moment Raphael asks: "Can you portal me to your place? Don't have to do this over the phone, whatever it is."

The warlock smiles sadly. "I think," he considers it briefly, then agrees. "I think you're right, snowflake, we should talk in person."

“Give me ten minutes to dress and I’ll be ready.”

Magnus makes sure the thick curtains are firmly shut and even the cat coming in won’t disturb them enough to risk the vampire’s safety.

When the vampire steps through the portal, Magnus greets him with a soft hug.

“Hungry?”

Raphael shakes his head. “Maybe later, let’s get this over with first?”

“Right,” the warlock leads them to sit and recounts the events of today. He tells him about the missing horns and claws, about worrying about Ragnor and how he’s still waiting for a response from him, how he and Luke suspect there are others held somewhere. By the time he asks about the unaccounted for vampire, Raphael has a hopeless expression on his face.

“It’s only been one day but…”

They share a sad, understanding look.

“Think we can do something? If not get him out, confirm they have him, at least?”

Magnus understands the need for confirmation.

“It’s been ages since any Downworlder was allowed into Idris, and I don’t like the idea of going there unprepared. If they keep them at the Institute, it would make things easier,” he would like nothing more than to storm the Institute and go right to Idris if that’s where the missing vampire is, if that’s where Ragnor could be.

“But there would be consequences,” Magnus points out. “You know the fallout would be brutal.”

Raphael sags into his seat, and stares down at his hands. He starts to speak but closes his mouth abruptly, glancing up at the warlock, then back to his lap, fiddling with his cuff… no, not his cuff.

Oh.

“I can’t drag him into it,” Raphael says softly, with eyes glazed over. “When he came to me, you know, on the night you met him… Simon told me Herondale was at his home. Asking about me, about you.”

Magnus gasps. Oh, no.

“What if they go after him? What if they don’t care he’s not a Downworlder, and he gets hurt?”

“Snowflake. Just make sure that if he does get hurt,” he leans in and pauses, willing the vampire to pay attention. “It’s on his terms.”

Raphael stares at him, frowning slowly. “Why would I..?”

“All I mean is, don’t hide this from him. Tell him the truth of the situation and let him decide how much he’s willing to risk, because trust me, I don’t think he’s the abandoning type.”

The vampire hums thoughtfully.

“You should know,” Magnus says, eyes downcast. “I involved the Head of the Institute.”

Raphael gives him a dubious look. “You think it’s worth the risk?”

The warlock opens his mouth to respond but shrugs instead. “I hope so. He was receptive when it came to the Herondale business and it would be nice to have an ally on the inside.”

“I’m not saying it wouldn’t be. I’m just not sure I’m ready to trust him… that much.”

Magnus looks away.

“What?”

“I haven’t told anybody yet,” he glances at the vampire then fixes his eyes at the little tea cup in his hand, playing with it as he defends: “I mean, I don’t know if I actually trust him myself, but…”

Magnus can practically feel the stare growing impatient. He huffs out nervously and puts the china away with a cling.

“He’s my soulmate. Apparently,” he adds the last word with open arms, as if to point it’s not his fault.

“Apparently,” Raphael echoes with an unimpressed look. It softens quickly, though. “I don’t know how that works, if you got a second one. I always thought they were only one per person. But I’m not going to begrudge you a chance to be happy with somebody else. Except...”

Magnus chances a look up just to see Raphael’s smile turn mischievous.

“You don’t look too thrilled about it.”

It takes him a second to recognize what the vampire is doing. There’s a pang of sadness when he remembers that conversation, from so long ago; but there’s more to it there. So he does the only thing he can - puts his hand to his chest and repeats Raphael’s words with a fond smile, half joking:

“Well, what if all he wants is to get me into bed and do all that other nonsense?” 

The vampire nods with a snort, but his voice is gentle when he actually speaks. “Would you have a problem with that?”

“I don’t know if I can… be like that again, especially with a Shadowhunter. Maybe it’s a matter of getting used to it, but part of me just doesn’t want to,” he admits and it feels good. Raw honesty always has been the best between them. “Turns out I still get those flashes when I see runes where I don’t expect them.”

“I’m sorry, Magnus.”

“Hmm.”

They let the comfortable silence envelop them. Both have a lot to think about.

They spend hours mostly in quiet, peppered with a question here and a comment there - offer to stay for dinner and a promise to go to Ragnor’s place together later, whether he responds or not.

“Thank you, snowflake,” the warlock says as he’s getting a portal up. “I feel a little lighter now.”

“Anytime.”

\--

  
  


It's Simon that opens the door for him the next day, when Magnus climbs the stairs in the Hotel, and waits for him in the doorway of Raphael’s suite.

"Hello, Simon," he walks up to him and sees the worry underneath the smile. "What's wrong?"

"Other than people missing and dead bodies in an alley?" Simon shrugs and lets him in. From that spot, Magnus can see Raphael pouring himself a glass of blood in the kitchenette, before he turns back to the human.

"Sorry, that came out wrong," Simon winces, waving his hands. "I don't blame you. Sorry."

"Hey," Magnus steps up to him and puts his hands on Simon’s shoulders. "Don't worry, I get the stress, I do."

He catches his eye and adds, grimly:

"I promise, if anything happened to Raphael, I'd burn that damn Institute down to the ground, if it's the last thing I do." Then he chuckles, dark and humorless. "Would probably be,too."

"Appreciate it," Simon nods and looks down between them, eyes out of focus somewhere around Magnus' long necklaces dangling over his chest. "He hasn't slept well since Benny's gone. He wouldn't just up and go, yeah? I mean, I don't know him that well myself, but everybody says he would say goodbye, or... something? And I don't know how to help..."

"Oh, Simon."

"I wish I could help," he sighs.

Magnus glances to the side to check if Raphael is watching - he’s not, but he knows he can hear everything perfectly clear.

“As someone who knows our vampire very well,” he lowers his voice and puts an open palm up to the side of his face. 

“Let me tell you a secret,” he winks, startling Simon out of his gloomy mood. “ You do. Help, that is. And I can promise you, Raphael is very grateful to have you just stand by his side. Trust me, I know.”

Simon nods jerkily and looks away, but not before Magnus notices his widening grin.

The two Downworlders take this opportunity to share a knowing smile across the room.

“You ready for a trip, snowflake?”

When they portal to the little cottage, it feels unchanged. The garden has been maintained with magic for decades, so Ragnor doesn’t have to remember about watering the plants or keeping the grass from overgrowing. They both teased him about choosing to live in the country but never having the time or headspace to do the traditional countryside chores.

The cold brush of green flames is a familiar greeting, when the wards let them in. The inside is cluttered, but nothing looks broken, nothing suggests the place has been breached.

There’s only the persistent lack of the warlock of the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next up - Alec gets a friend and reyhill meet!


	3. The Gard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lorenzo shuts his eyes against the flare of hope. It’s a trick. It’s a trick! He’ll be damned if he ever trusts a Shadowhunter.
> 
> And yet, he listens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: explicit violence, electrical torture, non-con nudity and humiliation, threats and jokes of rape (but no actual rape), blood, food deprivation, threatened and implied body horror (off ‘camera’ but see notes at the end for spoiler what it is exactly if you're not sure you could handle it), objectification

The lower level of the Gard has been sealed for decades, soon after the upper level was upgraded. Despite the costly renovation, the upper level is mostly empty nowadays; saved for Shadowhunter criminals awaiting trial or execution, which doesn’t happen much to begin with. Access to the bottom one is restricted to a select few of the inner circle of the Inquisitor.

This very moment, dozen Shadowhunters led by the Inquisitor’s grandson himself, are dragging two captives down there through a portal. A warlock and a vampire. 

Treating the vampire as the bigger danger, they don’t worry too much when the warlock manages to wiggle out of the grasp of his two guards.

Jace watches intently, waiting for him to face him, so he can see the warlock’s mark for himself and confirm his intel.The first moments when they bring any warlock in here, are always the most entertaining; it’s when they most want to fight, but realize their magic is suddenly gone.

This one is no exception. Lorenzo Rey, his name is, turns with his arms raised, intent on doing serious damage… when he stops mid step, eyes wide. He looks to his empty hand, where a fireball or some such is supposed to be, Jace thinks, and instead they all see his skin shimmer to reveal golden iridescent scales. Even on his face, partially covered with hair from his messed up ponytail.

“What is going on?!” Lorenzo demands in horror, staring at the platoon of Shadowhunters, half of which are not even paying attention to him - busy subduing a vampire.

“Oh that’s just our little security surprise for you,” Jace laughs and slowly comes closer, not at all concerned about the warlock attacking him now. “It blocks any magic abilities and, as a perk, keeps whatever mark you got permanently exposed! Neat, huh?”

Lorenzo lunges at Jace, but the Shadowhunter expertly twists the oncoming fist around and two more Shadowhunters come to restrain their prisoner.

With a closer look to the hand he’s holding in a vice, Jace peeks under the sleeve.

“So, those scales? How far do they go? Is your whole body like that?” Without a care in the world he grabs Lorenzo’s silk tie and rips it off, then proceeds to open his shirt for a better view. “Seriously, you warlocks. Always so many layers,” Jace shakes his head in distaste at the suit jacket, vest and shirt he has to get through.

“Get your hands off me!” The warlock writhes around furiously, but when he kicks out at Jace, there’s instantly a blade pressed to his exposed throat. “The fuck is wrong with you?” He grits out, glaring at Jace, whose indifference to his efforts is starting to piss him off.

Jace’s calculating smirk sends a chill down Lorenzo’s spine.

“And here I thought I could only get a pair of shoes out of you,” he laughs and pats the warlock’s cheek in a mockery of a friendly gesture. “With that much skin, you could make a whole set!”

He turns abruptly after that, leaving Lorenzo to process his shock. The warlock hopes this is just a scare tactic, and not an actual plan, but can’t find it in himself to believe that.

“And how’s our feisty mosquito doing?”

Only then, does the warlock notice what’s happening with his fellow captive.

The vampire is brought to his knees and held by three Shadowhunters, while one is a bit to the side, clearly nursing a bite wound to his forearm. There’s blood dripping from the vamp’s mouth into his short beard that confirms it.

Jace tuts and steps closer, grabbing his bloodstained chin. “Remember this feeling, because this is the last time you bite into anything,” he says with a steel cold stare. He reaches out a hand and waits, until another Shadowhunter gives him something.

“Hold its head!” He orders even as the vampire snarls and struggles.

If Lorenzo didn’t believe they were in deep shit before, he surely does now, watching in frozen terror, as they muzzle the vampire with a metal contraption. He yells and tries to break free, to stop them, but the grip on his arms only gets tighter and soon enough both of them are being dragged down the corridor into what he can only hope is a cell and not a torture chamber.

_ Really though, why not both? _ Lorenzo thinks grimly.

The space they enter is much bigger than what the warlock expected, with narrow holding cells lining three of the walls. Other than the heavy door and few switches next to it, the fourth wall is completely bare.

The ceiling-high bars on the right are most shiny but that cell is empty. He’s being led into the middle cell, the one opposite the entrance; where there’s already someone in there. Upon closer look, the figure on the floor turns out to be a warlock; head bowed and one arm resting on a bent knee obscure part of his face, but the horns are perfectly visible in how they stick out from his forehead. 

The vampire that Lorenzo arrived with is thrown into the other empty cell - on the left.

Once he’s locked inside, Lorenzo can just about hear what Jace says, when he pauses on his way out.

“We’re gonna have so much fun together,” the Shadowhunter winks at the vampire and leaves them all.

A cold weight settles in the warlock’s stomach.

"How long have you been here?" Lorenzo asks his cellmate quietly from his place leaning against the bars. He is buttoning up his shirt with trembling fingers, having trouble controlling his heartbeat.

"Hard to say really," the other warlock says. "Could be close to a month, I think?" he lifts his head and reveals a purple bruise around his eye, spreading down almost as far as his mouth.

"I'm Ragnor Fell."

"Lorenzo Rey," he nods, then frowns at the normalcy of the introduction in this horrible setting. He looks towards the other prisoner, and clenches his jaw at the sight of the vampire pulling on the muzzle with no effect. “Sadly I did not catch his name before,” he mutters, pulling on the cuff of his shirt, subconsciously trying to cover more of himself.

\--

  
  
  
  


When he’s back at the Institute, Alec keeps himself busy. He hands out orders, goes though reports and plans, all in an effort to be done with the bulk of his responsibilities as soon as he can, to free up his evening.

He is glad to learn his mother has already left - off to find him a bride, no doubt.

Yet what felt like crushing weight on his mind yesterday, now barely registers with him.

Try as he might, there’s no way to banish the sight of those three corpses from his memory. They worm their way to the front of his mind when he’s reading up on the recent update of the security system. He sees their twisted faces when he closes his eyes to let them rest after staring at the computer screen for too long.

He can’t help but look a little differently at the books he’s been reading recently.

He thinks of his earlier educational materials, his childhood heroes and the occasional mentions of the trophies they kept.

How he never connected the dots? How he never realized what the trophies actually were? He feels stupid, because it’s not as if the information was hidden. The very point of a trophy is to be on display - and they were! Still are, in fact, if he recalls his father’s office back in Idris.

Finally, he is done with most of his official duties. After the customary final briefing for the day, Alec is waiting for the crowd to clear so he can talk with the Head of Security. 

He has read the man’s file, just like most of the Shadowhunters he interacts with.

Andrew Underhill has been transferred to New York Institute not long before Alec arrived here. From what he understands, Underhill’s mother was the one who requested the assignment, not Underhill himself; up until the move, he’d been doing well at the Toronto Institute, climbing up the ranks steadily and Alec could not find any indication that the transfer was planned.

It just happened one day.

He seems to be in a good mood as he spots Alec approaching.

“Mr Lightwood, what can I do for you?”

“Underhill,” Alec greets with a nod. “I have an assignment for you and I need it to stay between us for now. Can you do that?”

“Of course.”

“I need to know who was out of the Institute and on what mission, for the past three nights. I mean everybody, even if it wasn’t on official business.” Alec decided early on that he would not tip his hand and ask for the night of the triple murder alone, just in case. And who knows, a wider scope could point to a pattern.

Underhill’s eyebrows go up but he nods readily, and goes for his tablet without wasting any time.

“Find me in my office once you’re done, ok?”

Alec needs to research the trophy related practice on his own.

Half an hour later, there’s a knock at his door.

“Come in,” he says from his perch on the sofa, a stack of books and a notepad spread around him. There’s nothing incriminating in plain view so he doesn’t worry about leaving it as it is; only closes the notes.

Underhill enters with a report in hand and closes the door softly. “Would have been sooner, but I tried to be discreet.”

“Appreciate that,” Alec nods and takes the grey folder from the other man.

“There were only two planned missions in the last three days, and other than the regular patrols scheduled for the night, nobody left the Institute, not even for a smoke on the stairs.”

“Thank you,” he appreciates the summary and flips through the pages, trying not to look like he’s curious about one particular night. He really hates that he can’t trust his own people.

After a prolonged moment, Alec looks up. The other Shadowhunter lingers, as if there’s more but he wasn’t sure if he should speak up.

“Is there anything else?” He’s both worried and excited to have a possible lead so quickly.

Underhill shakes himself out of his thoughts. “No, not related to the report. I,” he hesitates. “I just wanted to thank you, sir.”

Alec frowns. “For what?”

“For paving way for Shadowhunters like me. Like us,” the way the other Shadowhunter looks at him, Alec is getting a strong idea what this is about. Underhill inclines his head and continues. “I was doing good for years, but then I made the mistake of telling my mother I’m… that I’m gay.”

It’s painfully obvious how hard that word is to say for Underhill, so Alec doesn’t attempt to say anything, just nods and waits for more, consciously making his posture open.

“Coming to New York was my punishment, but then you showed up and,” he looks away briefly, but the wonder in his eyes is clear as day. “Your courage, it’s inspiring. And I know what the people are saying, as I’m sure you do too…”

They share an understanding look.

“I’m not eager to step out of the closet myself yet, but I just…” He gives Alec a sad smile. “Just wanted to let you know, you’re not the only one. It helped me to know that, and maybe it can help you too?”

Alec feels his eyes glazing over and he clears his throat, desperate to compose himself.

He’s not alone after all. He lets out a shuddering breath, and offers a lopsided smile.

“Thank you. It means… so much to hear that. You have, well, actually I think you do have an idea,” he huffs out a nervous laugh. He gestures to one of the chairs, feeling hopeful for the first time in days.

“Let’s talk.”

And who knows, if Alec plays things right, the Head of Security could be very helpful with his side project.

\--

  
  
  
  


The prison has no windows to help with telling the time of day or night, which, considering there is a vampire inside, is not entirely a bad idea. Still, there’s no way to tell the time and it’s unsettling.

It’s been too long, that’s all Ragnor knows. He suspects he’s been alone here for anything between one day and three. He spent most of it crying silently into his knees, after watching Herondale torment two werewolves before mutilating and finally killing them.

Having company again is both good and bad.

Good, because solitary confinement doesn’t agree with him, no matter the jokes he heard and even told about himself his whole life.

Bad, because he knows what to expect will happen to his new cellmates. What he failed to prevent from happening to the werewolves he’s been trapped with before. What he got that black eye for.

So far it’s quiet. He and Lorenzo talk - about this place, about what Ragnor has been through so far, in vaguest of terms, and about where they come from and who they are. Really, there’s nothing else to occupy their time, may as well get to know each other a little. They try to sleep, but between the stress and the temperature it’s not easy, never mind comfortable.

They get some cold leftover take outs now and then, but the Shadowhunters keep the vampire hungry. Do they want him to starve? Just to keep him weak, most likely, so when time comes, he will be defenceless. Ragnor had plenty of time to observe Herondale in his element, enough to give him nightmares.

He shudders and only part of it is because of the bare concrete he’s sitting on.

\--

  
  
  
  
  


“Strip!”

The harsh shout breaks the silence and startles all of them, making them look up. Jace struts in with purpose and a long metal rod in one gloved hand. He stops just shy of the bars, staring at Lorenzo with an uncomfortably hungry expression.

“You,” he specifies. “Strip. Wanna know how much scales I have to work with.”

Nobody moves. Nobody makes a sound, least of all Lorenzo, who’s paralyzed with shock. He’s staring at the Shadowhunter, almost gaping from his spot in the corner.

He wants him to do what?

“Move!” Jace slams the baton against the bars, the bang causing the warlocks to flinch and shut their eyes momentarily. “It may be my day off but I still have plans after this. I promise I will make it hurt worse if you waste my time. Ask your buddy,” he winks at Ragnor with a leer. “Am I right, horny?”

Lorenzo feels the eyes of everyone on himself but he doesn’t dare check their expressions.

“Buy me dinner first,” he responds through clenched teeth.

Herondale rolls his eyes, then opens the cell with his stele, holding the rod out in anticipation of the warlocks attacking him.

They both stand up instantly and share a panicked glance. 

Before they can even think of anything, Jace lunges at Ragnor with the rod, slamming the warlock against the side of the head with enough force to make him fall to the ground.

“...Ragnor?” Lorenzo asks quietly, wishing he could make sure he was still alive but with the Shadowhunter blocking his path, he can just watch and hope. They may still be strangers, but Lorenzo would never forgive himself for contributing to any Downworlder’s death.

“Ragnor, please,” he begs, barely audible, staring past Jace, willing the other warlock to move.

When, instead, it’s the Herondale that turns toward the warlock, Lorenzo doesn’t think, just jumps him. “No! Leave him!”

Jace shoves him just enough to step away and rams the tip of the bat into the warlock’s chest.

Electric shock bursts though Lorenzo’s body and he staggers, unable to control his legs, every muscle aching and seizing, as he gasps for breath. The moment it stops, he collapses onto his back, his heart ready to leap out of his chest, and every part of him sore. He’s gaping at Jace, who’s standing over him with a smirk.

“This is what happens when you don’t obey,” Jace turns to Ragnor and rolls him over with a kick. At that, the warlock groans and opens his eyes.

Lorenzo watches as his confusion clears and Ragnor lifts a hand to touch his head. He winces and looks down at his palm, then back up at the Shadowhunter. When Jace steps closer, Ragnor scoots away.

“That’s it,” Herondale croons. “That’s a good warlock. But I’m not here for you this time.”

He tries to get his legs under him, he really does, but there’s no way Lorenzo can stand up yet. So he levels a glare at the Shadwhunter, as he comes closer.

This time he stays silent, though.

“You know, you looked so good just now. And that noise you made, mmmm,” Jace shakes his head fondly at the memory. “Pain is a good look on you.”

Lorenzo scowls. He doesn’t remember screaming… What is he talking about?

“But I can’t beat you, pet. Can’t give grandma a bruised handbag, can I?” He shakes his head, more seriously now and Lorenzo gulps.

He’s starting to fear these aren’t just cruel jokes. Bastard may actually be obsessed with his scales.

“Gotta get creative,” Jace groans, as if it was the hardest chore in the world, then grabs Lorenzo by the ponytail and drags him up slowly, with that hungry look as he’s staring into Lorenzo’s eyes.

The warlock scrambles up onto his knees, his arms spring up to his hair, all in an effort to alleviate the sharp pain shooting through his scalp. He bites his lip, adamant not to give the Shadowhunter the satisfaction. 

“Now,” Jace puts the rod under his armpit as soon as he has him upright and rips Lorenzo’s shirt open, remaining buttons flying off; then shoves the jacket down his shoulders in a swift, harsh motion. “Show me!”

The warlock tries to step back, to protest, puts his arms up to stop him but the Shadowhunter is on him, ripping his suit open. He stopped caring about his ruined clothes, even if he could salvage them he wouldn’t want to at this point, but being manhandled by the bastard, the way he’s tearing into the warlock, as if he could split him limb from limb in his haste is making Lorenzo crave some of the control back.

There’s no telling what will come next, once he’s exposed; and part of him just wants to delay the scary unknown, even a few seconds.

“I’ll do it,” he says, breathing heavily and trying to swat the rough hands away. His face is burning, as he’s already second guessing his decision. He’s still going to end up naked and humiliated, but at least this way, it’s at his pace.

“Get to it, then.” There’s barely any room still between them, but the moment his hands leave Lorenzo, the warlock lets out a relieved sigh nonetheless.

As slowly as he can make it look not staged, he manages to wrangle the tangled mess of his shirt, vest and jacket down his arms. The cold is radiating from the concrete behind him, just as his cheeks flush hotter with each piece of clothing that lands at his feet. He makes a point not to look up at the gleeful expression on the Shadowhunter’s face, he can feel his eyes roaming up and down his chest well enough without any confirmation.

With trembling fingers he unzips his pants and lets them drop and pool at his ankles, fumbling with his hands at his sides. With no more rustling of the material, the silence quickly becomes oppressive.

Trying to forget that there are people witnessing this display, he focuses on the Shadowhunter’s hands - not the face, never that face. It’s the hands that are really dangerous.

“Good,” he hears and clenches his jaw at the pleased comment. “This will do just fine…”

He flinches when a hand aims for his side, but instead of a blow it just lands softly. At first he’s confused, then disgusted when the palm glides softly along, then another on his arm. Tracing the little scales. Feeling him up.

Lorenzo scowls, then grabs the Shadowhunter’s hands to push them away but he gets turned and shoved against the cold wall, face first.

“I thought you knew how to be a good pet,” Jace hisses in his ear. “I do what I like. You don’t get to resist _ me _!” Then louder, so the voice booms into the corridor: “Guys! Help me to the other room!”

A shiver runs up the warlock, when several other Shadowhunters run into the room and then into the cell. As he’s being passed around and dragged away, in nothing but his underwear and socks, panicked questions swarm his mind. He wonders what they plan to do to him there, that they wouldn’t do here. Is it the witnesses? Would they care that others saw whatever it is they’re about to do?

He trashes in their grasps uselessly, yelling at them to release him, but all it does is just compound his own terror. In the corner of his eye, he sees them subdue his cellmate, and the warlocks share a regretful look, before Lorenzo can’t see him anymore.

Too soon, they’re in the next room and Lorenzo’s stomach drops. The room is just as big, except covered with crisp white tiles from top to bottom, a couple of metal tables, a whole lot of restraints and hooks wherever he looks, and he knows what’s about to happen.

He feels it in his bones and he can’t breathe. He’s about to die here.

He was serious! This whole time that bastard…!

Black spots dance in the warlock’s vision and he stumbles and suddenly he’s lifted up and no longer vertical. The frigid metal slab he’s laid on makes him jump into the air, and once he’s secured in place, the coldness seeps into his body, gnawing at his skin. All he can hear is pounding in his ears, but he’s pretty sure he’s screaming at them, begging to be let go.

He gasps when a stream of icy water hits his legs from the side. He shudders. Once the water stops, he tries to look around, tries to find Herondale, but everything is blurry. His eyes sting and his face burns, but different than the rest of his body. He can’t tell why…

The Shadowhunter turns his head by the chin, so Lorenzo is forced to face him.

He winces. He’s going to have nightmares about that face. That is, he would, if he lived through today...

“Please,” he chokes out hoarsely.

“...en, are you?” Herondale repeats, impatiently, shaking the warlock to get his attention. “You hear me?!”

Lorenzo nods jerkily.

“Stay still, so I don’t cut your leg off by accident,” he says, waving a short blade. “Don’t think my pet lizard can regrow limbs, now can you?” He bends over the warlock’s face, chortling. “So stay still,” he reminds him with a playful pat on Lorenzo’s cheek. “I promised my tanner a skin sample!”

Lorenzo honestly doesn’t know if he has it in him to be still now, even if he wanted to, between the dread and the coldness, his body is shaking all over, and his teeth rattle as if to prove a point. But he tries nonetheless, too petrified not to.

He feels more hands on him, holding his leg in place, wiping it dry, then a new pain registers and it’s too much. Consciousness leaves him.

\--

  
  
  
  


Magnus is leaning against the railing of his balcony, glass of whiskey on the rocks in hand, as he’s glaring out into the city below him. It’s childish, he knows, and all it does is make him feel even worse but he can’t help it. It’s infuriating how perfectly ordinary everything is on the ground. People bustle around, minding their own business, utterly oblivious. The few clusters of open happiness only compound his urge to fling that glass down… maybe wrapped in a fireball or two.

The weather’s been blatantly mocking him with bright sunshine and fluffy clouds gliding up in the sky for the whole day, and he’s glad to finally see the sunset.

When he feels his wards give way to someone, he spins around, swallows the last of the alcohol with a wince and smashes the glass down onto the table, making the half-melted ice jingle inside.

Almost like broken glass; almost as rewarding.

On his way inside, Magnus makes sure to shut the balcony door with a satisfying bang.

It helps to know that Chairman is napping on his bed, and Magnus is free to vent his frustration without any unwanted guilt sneaking up on him.

There’s a knock at the door and with a wave of his hand, Magnus lets Luke in.

“You’re early,” his eyebrows go up slightly.

“I know, sorry,” Luke purses his lips. “I couldn’t sit still. It’s been days, and it’s like we can’t do anything, and nobody cares about finding whoever did it.” He notices the sad expression on his host and hurries to add: “I know you do, Magnus. I just…”

“I understand,” he saunters to his liquor collection. “A drink?”

The wolf hesitates. “Yeah, I could use a drink...”

“I’ve been trying to track the number of all the Downworlders in New York,” he says with a thoughtful expression, before pouring a fresh glass of whiskey for his guest. “Which isn’t the easiest when you consider short time visits and people passing through. But…”

He offers the glass and Luke takes it with a silent nod.

“So far everyone is accounted for, except for one vampire,” he looks away sadly.

“Raphael will join us, then?” Luke takes a sip and goes to the sofa.

“Yes, we’re waiting for him, but I also invited someone else.”

The wolf is giving him an expectant look, and Magnus braces for resistance.

“We all agree there’s no way these murders and disappearances are not related to Shadowhunters, right?”

Luke agrees readily, but then lets out an exasperated sigh. “Think I know where this is going…”

“I invited Lightwood. Yes. Who better to investigate Shadowhunters than him? He’s the Institute’s Head, he can come and go as he pleases and get all the information we need.”

“And then, when he comes here he can arrest us all for conspiracy,” Luke retorts bitterly. “Let’s face it, they will never own up to what they’ve done, just bury the evidence and it’s business as usual.”

“He... “ Magnus stops mid sentence, frozen. He was just about to argue that Alexander wouldn’t do it and his own readiness to say that startles him. What Luke says is a valid concern, there’s no denying it, but what really shocks the warlock is that he hasn’t considered that danger himself. When has he started to trust Alexander so much?

“I don’t think he’d do that,” he mutters, but it lacks conviction.

Luke gives him a hard stare. “I sure hope you’re right.” He takes another swing from the glass, then his expression softens. “You have good instincts, Magnus, most of the time. So I trust your gut.”

“I appreciate that, Luke,” he sits down next to him.

“On that note, I gave away those bracelets you gave me. Everyone asked to pass on their thanks.”

The words make Magnus grin. He asks about the pack, and the two of them spend the next half hour in light conversation, waiting for the others.

When there’s another knock on the door, Magnus lets Alec in.

“Hey,” he smiles shyly at the two Downworlders.

“Hello,” the warlock responds in kind and leads him closer, while Luke just nods, silently following the new arrival’s every step. Instead of the sofa , next to the werewolf, the Shadowhunter perches on one of the side poufs by the low table.

“We’re just waiting for Raphael,” Magnus proclaims, in an effort to stop the tense mood from growing. He gets a couple noncommittal murmurs in response.

As on cue, he feels another familiar presence pass his wards.

“Scratch that, he’s here,” he adds, and stays by the open door, waiting. Once the vampire is close enough, he steps up to him and wraps him in a hug that Raphael returns easily.

On their way back in, Magnus doesn’t miss the subtle way that Raphael’s steps falter the moment he sees the Shadowhunter, but doesn’t comment on it; just squeezes his shoulder in support and waits for him to keep going.

Alec shoots straight up from his seat when he enters, looking uncertain as well - and isn’t it just so weird, thinks Magnus.

“Mr Lightwood,” Raphael extends a hand. “Good to see you.” His voice is confident, but the warlock sees through the niceties right away, worried by Raphael’s unnatural stiffness. He frowns, thinking back to their first meeting, the one Magnus hasn’t personally witnessed but the vampire assured him went well.

“Likewise, Mr Santiago,” Alec shakes his hand, falling back on familiar formalities.

“Luke,” the vampire turns and nods in greeting.

“Hello, Raphael,” the wolf scoots to the side, leaving a spot on the sofa closest to Magnus and furthest from the window for the vampire.

Once all are seated and refreshments are offered to the newcomers, there’s no more reason not to get to the point.

“So,” the werewolf looks to the Shadowhunter, “did you find anything we can use?” Luke’s abrupt question startles everybody, and he shrugs. “That’s why you’re here, right? Insider knowledge?”

“Yeah, uh,” Alec hesitates, looking between the others. “I confirmed Jace Herondale is behind the murders...”

“Because of course he is,” Raphael shakes his head with a derisive smile.

Magnus stares at him. It’s not at all surprising, but hearing the certainty in Alec’s voice is bringing back the memory of Raphael on _ that _night, and just how close he was to losing his boy for good. He clears his throat and turns to the side.

“How?” The wolf asks.

“Compared the shift logs, and searched his room,” he answers matter-of-factly. After a beat, he adds in a softer tone: “Found trophies matching the victims.”

Luke curses under his breath.

“Are there, uh,” Magnus frowns. He levels the Shadowhunter with a calculating stare, hating that he needs to ask. “I take it you’d have already told us, if you had those werewolves in your cells?”

Alec looks down briefly. “The Institute holding cells are empty, have been since I’ve been transferred here,” he clarifies.

“So that leaves Idris?” Raphael prompts.

“Definitely much more likely than another city, yes.”

They all fall quiet, thoughtful, then Magnus asks again: “Do you know who they’re holding there now?”

Alec bites his lip, looking contrite. “Not as such,” then, eventually, seeing Luke’s impatient expression, he explains: “Idris is above me, right? I can’t just check who they have in the cells there. I could search for a certain name and get confirmation that this person is there, but somebody would notice me looking around and they could ask questions. Potentially. So I haven’t tried that. Yet,” he looks at the warlock like he’s about to say more, and Magnus frowns.

“Alexander?” 

“I hope to know more later tonight,” he admits, looking shifty. He pulls out his phone, checks for messages and looks back up to Magnus and the others. “Andrew’s with Jace right now.”

“Who’s Andrew?” Raphael asks, when the Shadowhunter doesn’t say more.

“Head of Security at the Institute,” Alec answers absentmindedly, with a glance to his phone before pocketing it again.

“Right,” Luke says dryly.

“Won’t Herondale get suspicious?”

“That’s why I’m not there with him. He wouldn’t offer anything valuable to me after I accused him of…” he stops himself suddenly, then gives Raphael an apologetic look. “...of torturing you, actually. Andrew has no visible connection to me, other than the obvious I’m his boss one, but that’s true for them all. No obvious reason Jace wouldn’t trust him…”

“Wait,” Magnus stops him with a hand outstretched. “Are we talking official interrogation here, or something more covert?”

“The other one,” Alec inclines his head. “They’ve been meeting over the past few days, ever since we searched his room. Andrew’s been working to get his trust… cozying up to him, as he put it,” he chuckles. “And I think he could get in for a recon, from what he tells me. Just need more time.”

“Hm,” the warlock can’t picture Alec in that role, his anxieties make the man too transparent for any long con like that. But he has no real way of judging other Shadowhunters in that position. None of that is even touching on the possible risk this is - Magnus has mixed feelings about involvement of others, without prior consultation especially.

Then again, time is vital, if there are Downworlders in danger.

“One of us could do that, without Herondale knowing. Do you think you could sneak somebody in?” Raphael asks eventually. “Say you’re visiting, or something?”

“Well,” he lets out a humorless laugh. “Nobody’s gonna buy I’m visiting home, not with… everything that’s been going on,” Alec waves his hands vaguely at the mess his family relations have become. Without giving any unnecessary details away, he goes on: “I mean my personal life, never mind. I would need an official reason to go there myself, or send a delegation. Either way, getting you in is not what’s the problem…”

“I could use a spell to hide my presence,” Magnus suggests, all too aware of the law that prohibits Downworlders from going there.

“No,” Alec shakes his head. “You really couldn’t. You’re not just not allowed to be there, by law. There’s been…” he breathes out, taking a moment to think.

All three wait expectantly, shifting in their places, dreading what they are about to hear.

“There’s been some security upgrades, recently. They renovated the top levels of the Gard, brand new everything, including silver addons and the magic block. It was quite a thing, I remember they were touring some of the Institute Heads from around the world.”

“When you say a block…” the warlock leans forward, listening intently.

“All magic blocked,” he confirms. “No glamours, no spells, no nothing. We can’t even send fire messages with this thing on.”

“Damn,” they all shake their heads, Magnus stands suddenly and starts pacing, but it’s Luke that voices their anger. “Talk about overkill. Are they expecting an invasion… or planning one?”

“Alright,” Magnus collects himself, putting an end to the emotional spiral that started building with the news. “Once your double agent is done for today, invite him here. I want to look him in the eye and see for myself who this Andrew is. And we could use all the intel he has sooner rather than later. Agreed so far?” He stops long enough for everybody to nod or say something.

“Yeah.”

“That’s reasonable, sure.”

“Great,” he clasps his hands in front and proceeds pacing. “What we need is confirmation they keep Downworlders in Idris. Would be embarrassing to storm an empty fortress,” he jokes but there’s no humor in it. “Has to be a Shadowhunter doing the recon, obviously,” he admits with a small scowl. He would love to go and see for himself but no matter how great his glamour would be, it wouldn’t hold, so it’s a moot point. He forces himself to accept the reality of truly, actually needing the Shadowhunters’ help, and not at all superfluously.

The lack of positive history is grating. He can’t remember when, if ever, he had a meaningful, honest professional relationship with a Shadowhunter. And now it seems he has to depend on them. He has no idea how he would ever face himself in the mirror if he trusted the wrong people now.

\--

  
  
  
  


In the end, among many vocal protests, Raphael is the one to come up with an actual plan of going into Idris as a prisoner himself.

It takes another day for them to put that plan into motion and for Alec to approach Jace and play contrite; confiding in him that Jace was right about that damn vampire all along, that he really was grooming that mundane. How horrible! Luckily, the vampire is in custody, and since Alec heard so much about the new and improved holding cells in Idris, would Jace be willing to facilitate a prisoner transfer, just to make sure nothing like that ever happens again. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to teach that nasty vampire a lesson in Shadowhunter justice, while they’re at it.

To say that Herondale is amenable to that idea is an understatement; he offers to take Alec on a tour himself, eager to show off the new pride and joy of the Gard: the magic blocker.

Despite what he's been telling himself all this time, Andrew finds he's not ready for this. As he's leading chained Raphael down to the holding cell, a Shadowhunter on each side, something heavy settles in his chest and he has to struggle to breathe slow just so their escorts don't notice and get suspicious. 

The vampire throws him a glance that reminds him Raphael can hear or feel his pulse. Now that he thinks abt it, Andrew isn't entirely sure how that works, but that’s a query for another time.

They walk into a big space with holding cells, and Andrew focuses on following what the Shadowhunters are doing to open them and trying to spot any secondary security measures. For later.

“Raphael?!” A horrified yell draws his attention unexpectedly and he turns to look into the other cell. In it, two warlocks with their marks exposed watch the Shadowhunters manhandle Raphael.

“No, no! Raphael! Let him go!!!” The warlock with horns is staring wide eyed at Raphael, and Andrew knows this must be Ragnor.

“Aw, a family reunion, Jace will be thrilled!” One of the Shadowhunters laughs.

Andrew bites his tongue to stop himself from saying anything that would compromise the plan. Instead, he squeezes Raphael 's arm while he still can, and lets him be dragged behind bars to the cell on the left.

He can hear the bars closing, but is stuck staring at the other warlock, the one with golden shimmer on his skin, just glaring at them all, huddled on the floor with an extra coat on his back.

"You like what you see?" The Shadowhunter whacks Andrew on the shoulder and leans in close. “You know, we could…” Instead of a conspiratorial whisper Andrew would expect, he continues in a normal tone, making sure the captives can hear clearly.

“Look away and give you some time alone with that one. If you pick a good spot, something Jace wouldn’t notice, you could keep a souvenir. You just gotta promise not to damage him too much, Jace is set on those scales, you see. He already cut out a piece. It’s a nice texture, I’ll give him that...”

Only because Andrew kept his eyes fixed on the warlock does he notice him flinch violently.

Andrew feels sick at the thought that they already did this to him. He clenches his fist behind his back, digging his nails in as hard as possible, just to not tell the guy off, or maybe break his face.

He turns his head to look at the other Shadowhunter, and Angel help him, he considers it. A moment in private could be invaluable to inform the Downworlders of their rescue plan, but Andrew can’t be sure how private it would really be.

“And just between you and me?” He continues, now also looking at the prisoners, but nudges Andrew with his hip. “He’s got as good a mouth as any…”

Andrew releases the fist, before he can throw a punch. He makes sure his expression is relaxed, when he asks: “and you wouldn’t… sneak a peek, would you?”

The Shadowhunters bellow a laugh.

“Let me just,” he digs out his phone and steps away so they can’t see the screen. “I came here with my boss and it won’t be pretty if I make him wait because of that,” he tries to joke while texting Alec frantically.

To: Alec Lightwood

_ “CAN WE DO THIS NOW????” _

Now they laugh at him for being scared of his boss, but Andrew doesn’t care. He suspects they are pretty scared of Herondale, and just try to make themselves feel better.

Rationally, he knows he can’t expect an instant reply. They got separated right away, and Alec is being chatted up by Jace himself as part of the official tour of the facilities.

When a response finally comes, it takes all the self control for Andrew not to groan openly.

From: Alec Lightwood

_ “Still not in security. Stall. Call M.” _

Could he kill them now, though? Just two Shadowhunters - he could take them.

But the risk of them sounding an alarm is too great. It’s bad enough for Alec to fight the Herondale and face the consequences if he lets him get away.

They’d get deruned without rescuing anyone, and make any further attempts that much more difficult.

\--

  
  
  
  
  


Lorenzo watches silently. He feels for Ragnor, seeing a friend join them; he can imagine how horrible that would be. Another vampire, by the looks of it. He wonders if he knows the vampire Lorenzo has been brought in here with, if they will finally get his name.

He’s still trembling; he doesn’t think he will get rid of the cold ever again. He hugs his bent leg in front of himself like a shield, the other one still sore laid out on the floor, and watches, with clenched… everything, really. His teeth are clenched, his fists, his insides are tied in knots. It’s nasty, hearing them discuss him openly, right in front of him, in front of everybody. He buries his face in his forearms, listening to the lewd comments.

The warlock doesn’t remember _ that _. He lost consciousness and woke up back in his cell, Ragnor’s coat draped over him, and the other warlock sitting by him. He doesn’t remember anything that would... but would they lie? They would joke, he has no doubt about that, but why lie about something they could very well actually do? Nobody there to stop them.

His eyes sting but the warlock blinks rapidly, trying to push the ugly feelings away. Part of him wishes he had answers, but another one tells him he should be grateful for not having to remember...

Lorenzo focuses back on the newcomer, watching him clench his fist behind his back at a particularly creepy comment. He frowns; is he excited or does he have an inch of morals in him?

With a shudder he finds he doesn’t particularly want to find out either way.

Not that it matters much what he’d like. Just like that, he hears one Shadowhunter offer some private time with him to another one and Lorenzo realizes he won’t be wondering much longer. He’ll remember this time.

He glares at them, hatred flaring up inside him.

Two of them enter - one grabs Ragnor and holds him in place, while the other goes straight to Lorenzo, kicking his injured leg with a twisted smirk, making him scream. After that, the warlock takes too long to get his bearings, and is being manhandled out.

At some point, the other Shadowhunter tries to step in and in the scuffle he gets the punch that was aimed at the warlock. _ Good riddance, _Lorenzo thinks.

The new Shadowhunter’s grip on his wrist is firm but startlingly gentle. Lorenzo figures he got the ‘don’t bruise the merch’ speech and lashes out even harder, daring him to bruise, to ruin it for Herondale, but this one is even more careful than any of the others.

There’s no time to examine what it could mean, though.

They end up in the other room, the white room Lorenzo despises, him thrown into the corner by the rougher Shadowhunter, with the door locked from the outside.

He’s struggling to sit up, to see what the guy he’s trapped with is up to. Just the memory of last time spent in that place has the warlock’s heart hammering in his chest so bad, he’s sure the Shadowhunter can hear.

He sees him paint something on the door with his stele, but he has never cared to learn the different runes they used, so he has no idea what it is. Then, with a glance to the warlock, the man activates a rune on his forearm.

“Okay, sorry,” he gasps, then steps away from the door, putting the stele away in its holster. “Sorry, I know, I can talk, but this is worse than I expected,” the Shadowhunter chuckles darkly.

Lorenzo looks at him, incredulous. Worse than _ he _expected? The nerve!

“I know, I know,” he motions in the warlocks direction. “That look, yeah, I deserve that. Anyway! I’m not gonna step any closer, not unless you want me to, which I don’t think you do,” he raises a questioning eyebrow.

“Not really,” the warlock responds dryly.

“Right. Oh, I’m Andrew, by the way. Let me just…” he puts his finger up in a ‘wait’ gesture and fishes out his phone, dials up quickly and puts it against his ear. “This was supposed to be just a recon mission, but,” he starts talking to Lorenzo but then whoever he was calling picks up and his tone changes. “Magnus! I just moved up the rescue to now. Sorry for the last minute change, but no way in hell am I...”

Lorenzo shuts his eyes against the flare of hope. It’s a trick. It’s a trick! He’ll be damned if he ever trusts a Shadowhunter.

And yet, he listens.

“No. Still waiting on Alec.”

A pause.

“Yes Ragnor is here. And another warlock,” he glances at Lorenzo with a frown but he refuses to offer his name just yet. The man shrugs. “And a vampire. Raphael’s with him.”

\--

  
  
  
  


The rancid smell of the holding cells is enough to make Raphael gag once they enter. It shouldn’t be surprising, with people kept together, who knows what done to them, and his vampire senses only making things worse.

So he makes himself stop breathing. No matter how used to it he is, he doesn’t actually need it to survive.

He’s telling himself he can handle whatever’s inside, but the moment he spots Ragnor behind bars, black-eyed on top of it, he freezes and has to be bodily shoved into the room. Witnessing Ragnor’s reaction to his presence is even worse. The vampire bites his lip, scared that the moment he attempts to reassure the warlock, he’s going to blow their cover.

So he stays silent, willing Ragnor to see that he’s unharmed.

He’s surprised by Andrew’s friendly touch goodbye, just before he’s handed over to the other Shadowhunters and locked up behind bars as well.

As much as Raphael is glad to have the chains taken, he realizes they allowed him to hold onto his red string without anyone the wiser. With them gone, he needs to consciously stop himself from reaching for that comfort.

He doesn’t pay much attention to the conversation on the other side of the bars, instead looking around…

“Benny!”

In an instant he’s kneeling by the other vampire, who’s lying on his side on the floor, his shirt bloodied and torn, while his arms are bound to a wall by a long heavy chain. As soon as Raphael turns him to see him better, Ben cracks his eyes open, and as he recognizes the clan leader they go wide; whatever he would say to Raphael is muffled by a heavy metal muzzle that obscures half his face, visibly digging into his skin.

Raphael lets out a long string of curses, seething at the state he’s in.

With a quick glance to see that the guards have left the room, he examines the muzzle, tugging at it and eventually taking it off after a few failed attempts. He tosses it angrily against the bars and rubs the vampire’s face gently with his fingers, careful of the raw cuts and bruises left by the contraption.

“They never fed him,” comes Ragnor’s voice from across the room.

He turns to the warlock with an apologetic expression. “How about you? And don’t say you’re fine.”

Ragnor shrugs. “I may not be fine, but I’m definitely better than your friend over there. Seems Herondale likes to torture werewolves and vampires, but keeps us warlocks only for the marks.”

The vampire looks down at his brutalized charge and maneuvers him to lay partially on top of his lap.

“So you can understand why I’m extremely worried about you being here, Raphael.” he gives the vampire a hard look.

“I know. But it won’t be long now,” Raphael says softly, still scared of being overheard.

“Don’t even say that!” Ragnor hisses angrily.

“No, not like that,” he shakes his head, while unbuttoning one of his sleeves. He promptly bites into his wrist and puts it to Benny’s dried up lips. With that done, he looks back up to the warlock, and mouths out “help’s coming” with a wink.

\--

  
  
  
  


The time stretches uncomfortably between them.

Andrew is throwing awkward glances around, muttering inaudibly for his boss to hurry the fuck up, tension driving him frantic. He tries to push at the guilt of his reckless decision, but no matter what, he stands by it. Still, he just threw their plan out the window, they had no contingency for when Alec had to fight Jace, because that was never a part of the plan. And he knows there is a fight going on upstairs, no way Alec would be so lucky as to just turn the magic blocker off and saunter down to join them.

He wiggles his fingers nervously, thinking if he should check on the warlock, but always stopping himself. He promised he wouldn’t come near him, and while the warlock doesn’t look happy or healthy, he also doesn’t seem to be in any immediate danger.

Not unless they fail and he’s forced to stay here.

Which he won’t. Because Alec is going to disable that security any moment now.

Then one of those quick glimpses to the warlock make him really pay attention to the golden shimmer of his scales, and it becomes not so quick a stare. He doesn’t catch himself fast enough to stop though, and can see the warlock growing uncomfortable in front of his very eyes.

“Sorry,” he looks away.

“That’s the point of this place, isn’t it? For you to get your fill gawking at us,” the warlock sneers, taking Andrew aback.

It’s not…

He has to admit he does have a point.

“Some rescue you promise. What are you waiting for exactly, want me to tell you how you’re so much different than those other guards? For me to throw myself at your feet?”

“What?!” He blinks in shock at that. “No! Dammit, no! My boss is upstairs, with Herondale,” Andrew doesn’t miss the flinch at that name, but continues as if he hasn’t. “I’m waiting for him to disable the magic blocker they have there, then we get all of you out of here to a friend's place.”

He doesn't look convinced, but there’s really not much more Andrew can say to prove himself. He just has to wait. He tells himself to be patient, like on any other stake out mission - except this is so unlike any other mission.

_ Hurry the hell up, Alec! _

All of a sudden, a wave of energy moves through the walls and passes through them. The Shadowhunter staggers before it dawns on him what it means.

“You weren't lying,” Lorenzo says, completely baffled.

Andrew beams. “Can you heal yourself?”

“Of course I can,” the warlock’s mark is already glamoured, and he’s pouring more magic into his wounded leg. He stands smoothly and walks up to the door, not taking his eyes off the Shadowhunter.

“My name,” he extends his hand out, once he’s close enough, “is Lorenzo Rey.” His clothes are torn and dirty, his long hair is a mess, but he looks ready for murder, and Andrew’s legs almost give out under him for a whole new reason.

“Andrew Underhill,” he responds and clasps Lorenzo’s hand in both of his, grinning stupidly. “It’s a pleasure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (spoiler:) when you read Lorenzo getting naked in the cell and then marched away, Jace is going to cut off small part of his skin (from his leg) as a sample, the actual procedure is not shown but what leads to it is traumatic for poor Lorenzo
> 
> there will be another chapter after all, a little more light in tone (at least that's the goal)
> 
> started this chapter last year but after I hit 4 927 words it felt too overwhelming, between what I already got written and what I had planned, then this weekend I got back and doubled that in 4 days and in more ways than one! this chapter is 8 767 words, which is more than the previous two combined (at 8 274) so I am really proud of myself!
> 
> no beta this time :(


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